Relapse
by Altariaa
Summary: Natasha Romanoff is struggling to deal with her feelings for her partner, Clint Barton. How will she react when he starts to slip back under Loki's spell once more? Clint/Natasha (Clintasha) pairing. Rated T for language.
1. Remembering

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of its characters.**

**A/N: Finally another Avengers Fic! Hope you like it, please read and review! Sorry if anyone seems slightly out of character. **

**Chapter 1 - Remembering.**

Natasha Romanoff sat at a picnic bench in a large park, steaming coffee in hand. She had decided to get away from Stark tower for a while. It had become the Avengers base, and although she was used to Thor's booming voice, and Banner's constant brooding, the one thing she could not get used to was Tony's dumbass jokes. Never mind the fact that just being around Clint was becoming exceedingly difficult.

The Russian scowled. She had come out for coffee to get away from all these thoughts, all these problems. She was a spy – a good one too, and she wasn't supposed to form attachments. The problem was she couldn't help it. Her partner's infectious smile and reckless behaviour had caught her attention, mainly because he was everything she wasn't.

Clint was fun. Natasha didn't know _how _to be fun. She had missed out on her childhood, and so fun wasn't really a normal thing for her. She honestly couldn't remember a single 'fun' moment in her life – until she met Clint, that is. Natasha ran her hand across her face and stared down at the splintering table she sat at. _When did everything get so damn complicated? _

Sighing, she took a gulp of her strong coffee and furrowed her brow. Personally, she preferred Vodka. She had never been a coffee person, but Clint drank it so damn much that she had gotten used to it. Now, she drank it instinctively. She groaned aloud. Why did _everything _remind her of him? She wasn't a child for God's sake; she was a high-profile spy and assassin. She wasn't supposed to become compromised.

It had crept up on her, however. One minute her concern for Clint had been purely professional, the next it had been entirely personal. She began to seek revenge whenever he got hurt, taking his injuries personally. She smacked her hand to her forehead angrily, repeating the action when the thoughts that were flying around her head refused to leave. She couldn't think like this. She _wouldn't _think like this.

The archer was probably looking for her right now. She smiled wryly. Whenever she disappeared like this he knew something was wrong. He could see right through Natasha's stony facade and if she was honest, it scared her. She was so used to being unreadable, unpredictable. But Clint always knew _exactly _what she was thinking, and could predict every move she was about to make. Sure, it made them a great team, but it also made them a liability.

Natasha glanced to her right and saw the flashing lights of Stark tower in the distance. She took in a deep breath, held it for a while, and then puffed it out all at once. She let her concentration slip, remembering little instances where her anger had flared up at Clint. At the time, she hadn't understood why, but now everything made perfect sense. She was angry, because he was making her care. And Natasha Romanoff did not care. About anyone. Ever.

Mostly, it happened over the most tedious of things. Things like going before her in stake outs to make sure it was safe, or sniping Tony's toast for her when she was hungry. It wasn't like she was mad at Clint for doing these random acts of kindness, after all they were pretty much second nature to him, she was mad at herself because she didn't deserve them. She snapped at him constantly and criticised him endlessly, yet he still hung around.

For the life of her, Natasha could not figure out why.

When they had first arrived at Stark tower, Clint had run straight for the rooms, securing the largest one at the back of the corridor. Natasha had followed him, and had grumbled once she had seen the room he had picked. The window was the only one on that floor that didn't have a massive building obscuring the view, and it had the largest en-suite bathroom.

_Natasha walked into the large room that Clint had chosen and groaned upon seeing it. It was, undoubtedly, the best room in the entire building. It had a magnificent view, and one of the windows allowed direct access to a small platform that stretched out from the side as a mini-roof. It was the perfect place to escape to. It was also the furthest room away from Stark._

_She glanced sideways at her partner, who was lounging on the bed, his arms crossed behind his head. He grinned back at her. _

"_Do you like it?" he asked._

"_Stop rubbing it in, Barton. We all know you picked the best room." She snapped back._

"_Natasha, this is your room." _

_Natasha looked at her partner quizzically. She cocked her head to the side and frowned at him. _

"_What?"_

_Clint smirked. "I was looking at the tower when I spotted the mini-roof. I thought you might want it, so I ran ahead of everyone and got it for you." _

_Natasha stared blankly at him. The kind gesture was so foreign to her that she hadn't known how to respond immediately, and so, much to Clint's amusement, she had stood there opening and shutting her mouth repeatedly like a fish. Eventually, she dragged her gazed away from her feet and caught his eye. _

"_Thank you," she whispered. _

"For goodness sake, Romanoff. Stop getting sentimental," she growled out loud, causing a young boy that was passing by to drop his lollipop and run away, frightened. _Great, now you've scared a kid. _Natasha shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. If Clint could see her now he would make fun of her endlessly. She had never been great with children - and boy did he know it.

_They were sitting on the swings in some park in Britain. They had just finished a mission, and Clint was taking the opportunity to relax a little before they went back to the Heli-carrier. Clint was swinging backwards and forwards, kicking his legs aggressively to make himself go higher – Natasha had bet him $10 that he wouldn't be able to swing over the top bar, and of course, being the defiant ass he was, the archer had risen to the challenge._

_Clint was almost at the top when the chain buckled and he slammed back down to the ground, the swing stopping with a fierce jolt. He cussed loudly. Natasha raised an eyebrow at him and held out her hand, unimpressed. Reluctantly, Clint pulled out a $10 note and handed it to her. Just at that moment, a young boy had run over to them and stopped abruptly in front of Clint._

"_Whoa! You went so high! Can you push me?" the child looked up hopefully at him and Clint grinned back. _

"_Sure, kid. Hop on." The assassin lifted the small boy onto the swing and began to push him, being careful to not push him too far. Natasha watched as her partner's face lit up every time the little boy demanded to go higher. She suppressed a smile. She never knew Clint was so good with kids, and it was _damn annoying. _Natasha hated kids. _

"_For goodness sake, Barton, Fury's going to send someone to pick us up soon, and instead of enjoying London, you want to push a little brat on a swing?" she hissed. _

"_Easy, Nat. This _is_ relaxing." He continued to push the little boy, the cheery smile never leaving his face. _

Natasha smiled at the memory fondly, but was soon snapped out of her musings when she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. It was a text from the man himself.

_Where are you, Nat? You've been gone for ages._

Typical, Barton. Smiling despite herself, Natasha rolled her eyes and pocketed her phone, not bothering to reply to the text. Nine times out of ten, she found Clint's constant worrying about her annoying, but it was nice to be thought of for once. Getting up from her seat, Natasha started the short journey back to the Avengers tower in order to put her partners mind at rest.

When she saw him, she smiled and felt a slight tightening in her chest. She swore under her breath, every time she saw him that feeling got harder to ignore. Upon seeing his smiling face, she felt a rush of affection for the archer. Not caring what the rest of the Avengers thought, she pulled him into a short, uncharacteristic hug. Clint froze in shock momentarily, but soon wrapped his arms around her. She could feel his face forming a smile against the side of her head.

When she stepped back Clint looked at her, confused but happy.

"What was that for, Tasha?"

"Nothing. I just missed you that's all."

Clint grinned. His day had suddenly gotten a lot better.


	2. Shooting Range

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of its characters.**

**A/N: Chapter two yay! Thank you to everyone who reviewed and followed. Hope you like it! Please read and review, sorry if anyone is a little OOC. :) **

**Chapter 2 - The Shooting Range. **

Clint rolled over in bed an opened his eyes. He winced as the harsh light streaming through his curtains pierced his vision. In an attempt to go back to sleep the archer rolled over again, only to come face-to-face with the floor.

"Ow. Shit," he groaned.

Disgruntled, he sat up and leaned against the side of his bed. He rubbed his eyes and tried to wake himself up. It was futile. The man needed coffee. He could feel a faint pounding in his temples but he shrugged it off. Headaches had become a regular occurrence ever since the big fight against Loki. Natasha had insisted it was because he drank too many Americanos. She was probably right.

He dragged himself to his feet and pulled on a t-shirt that had previously lay discarded on a small chair next to his door. Stepping into the corridor he almost ran head first into a certain red-haired Russian.

"What – Nat-" He couldn't clear his head enough to finish his sentence however as she had sent his head spinning by zipping off around the corner.

Clint sighed. Ever since her impromptu hug, his partner had been avoiding him like the plague. It seemed that no matter how patient he was, they always seemed to be moving too fast for her. Hawkeye couldn't bring himself to care right now though, he seriously needed to wake up and standing in the corridor attempting to figure out how Natasha's brain worked was only going to make _his_ brain foggier.

Stumbling into the kitchen, he found Steve making toast.

"Hey, Cap. Want some coffee?"

"Oh. Hey, Barton. Um, sure if there's some going that would be great. Tony's been driving me mad this morning. I could sure use something strong to clear my head."

Clint chuckled. He liked Steve. Granted, the man was fairly old school but it was just his way, even if it was slightly inconvenient at times. Grabbing a pair of mismatching mugs from the cupboard, the archer poured out the steaming black coffee. He followed the Captain over to a large round table and set the mugs down before them, thanking Steve for the toast that had been set before him.

"Hey, Cap... Have you seen Natasha this morning? Actually, make that this whole week. I haven't seen her at all recently."

Steve paled slightly. He'd come to his own conclusions as to why Natasha was avoiding Clint, but he knew the archer would most likely pin him to the ceiling with exploding arrows if he mentioned them. He looked down at his toast, avoiding eye contact.

"Not really, Clint. She's been going out a lot during the day recently, or to the gym. I think she's feeling a bit overwhelmed. She's only used to having you around, not all of us as well."

Clint nodded, smiling wryly. He bit down his toast and slurped his coffee before standing up. He was fed up of chasing after Natasha all the time and so, today he was going down to the training floor. More specifically, the archery range.

Ten minutes later, he was strolling through the large glass doors and down to his allotted area for archery practice, whistling quietly as he went. He faltered as he rounded the corner and his chipper whistling faded away. There standing in his archery range, bow poised haphazardly, was Natasha Romanoff, a determined look etched on her face. Before he could stop himself, he burst out laughing. The sudden burst of sound sent his headache rocketing through his skull.

The Russian spy whirled around and the bow she was holding clattered to the ground. Clint looked at it and furrowed his brow.

"Hey, be careful with that!" he exclaimed in mock outrage. Sobering up slightly, he turned to face her.

"What are you doing here, Nat?"

Natasha looked away from him, averting her gaze to her feet. "I'm no good at this, Clint," she said softly. If he noticed the double meaning in her words, he didn't show it. He smiled at her kindly.

"I'll teach you."

The archer stood close behind her and handed her his own bow and arrow. She looked at him in confusion but he just waved her away. "You can use it. Its fine," he reassured her.

The surprising gesture made the tightness in her chest appear once more. Clint doesn't like _anyone _touching his bow, but here he is, letting her use it. It was a silent display of the immense trust the pair shared.

Clearing his throat, He lifted her arms up high, steadied the arm that was supporting the bow with his own and signalled to her to pull the bowstring back tightly, right up to her jaw. He ducked his head so that it was right against hers, and closed one eye, lining up the shot. Natasha grew still beside him. His breath tickled her ear as he began to talk.

"Take a deep breath, Tasha," he whispered.

The spy did as she was told. Sucking in a deep breath and squinting, she tried to concentrate on the target in front of her. But _damn _it was hard with Clint leaning on her shoulder like that. Shaking her head slightly, she released the shot, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it almost hit the dead centre of the target.

Clint stood back and smiled, clapping her on the back. Natasha tried to ignore the chill that she was now feeling running down her right shoulder. She reasoned with herself that it was only due to the loss of heat that her partner provided that she was feeling chilly. She was lying. Her partner smiled and handed her another arrow.

He watched her standing exactly like he had told her too, drawing the bowstring up to her jaw, trying to suppress the headache that had been creeping up on him all morning. He smirked slightly when she faltered by accidentally letting go of the bow string too quickly. The arrow shot off course. Huffing, she threw the bow down to the ground and stretched out her shoulders, wincing when she remembered that it was Clint's favourite bow.

"God, Clint. How do you do this all day without getting this horrible ache in your shoulders? It's annoying as hell."

The only reply she got was a pained grunt coming from behind her. Whipping around, she saw the archer leaning heavily against the wall clutching at his head.

"Clint," she spoke tentatively, her voice tinged with worry. "Clint, look at me."

She pulled gently at his hunched shoulders, trying to get him to face her, but he shrugged her off roughly. Narrowing her eyebrows, Natasha tried again. She slammed his back against the wall and jerked his jaw up so that he was looking directly at her. When she saw his eyes, she froze.

They were shining bright blue.


	3. Déjà Vu

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of its characters. **

**A/N: Okay so here is the third chapter yay! Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, followed and favourited. My updates may be fairly irregular, but I really want to make the best of this story and so I'm taking my time with it. I want to make sure that it is the best it can be – so please bare with me! :)**

**Chapter 3 – Déjà Vu.**

Natasha flinched when she took in the sight of Clint's face. The sore-looking, red circles were back around his eyes and his skin was sallow_. _Natasha slammed her eyes shut, and angled her face away from her partner. She couldn't handle seeing him like this, not again. Up until now, her biggest worry had been her uncharacteristic emotions. It paled in comparison to this newly discovered disaster that was heading toward her like a freight train.

Maintaining her firm grip on his shoulders, she straightened up and looked him dead in the eye.

"Clint," she whispered softly. "Clint, snap out of it."

He said nothing, his eyes vacant of all the emotion that usually swirled around within them. Natasha wanted to cry for the first time in a long, long time. Cautiously, she lifted her hand and cupped his clammy cheek. His face was completely washed out. He looked nothing like the Clint she was so used to seeing.

"Clint,_ please_." Natasha saw a brief flash of emotion cross his eyes, but as soon as it appeared, it went again.

She vaguely remembered him mentioning how he kept getting pounding headaches, but she had put that down to him drinking too much coffee. She had had no idea that it was actually something much worse. It was Loki, worming his way back in. Slowly, tentatively, Natasha began to release her vice-like grip from his shoulders. She reached for her phone, not taking her eyes away from him. It seemed the cognitive recalibration had only been temporary.

Suddenly, Clint launched himself at her, knocking the phone out of her hand. It clattered to the floor as he slammed her into the wall behind them. Natasha grunted as her head cracked against the plaster, and pushed with all her might against her partner's tense shoulders. He didn't budge an inch. Natasha may be faster, but Clint was far stronger.

Steeling herself, Natasha hooked her leg around the archer's calf and pushed backwards. He stumbled slightly before crashing to the ground, Natasha falling with him. As soon as they hit the ground the Russian rolled off of him and stood up, gaining the advantage. He leapt up swiftly however, and was running at her for the second time.

Frantically, she blocked his flurry of punches, ducking and delivering shots of her own. She knew enough of her partners fighting style after spending evenings sparring with him in the gym to know how to block him successfully. He grabbed hold of her wrist, twisting it roughly and in response she landed a hard kick to his abdomen. He reeled backwards clutching at his stomach. The pain only last a second though as he regained his composure and a look of pure hatred filled his eyes. It was now, or never.

"I'm sorry, Clint," she said softly, before hooking her hand around the base of his neck and slamming his head sideways into the wall. He was unconscious almost instantly. Looking down at his slumped form, Natasha pulled him into a more comfortable position before retrieving her phone and dialling. Resting Clint's head on her lap, she waited for Tony Stark to answer.

Tony had got on the phone to SHIELD as soon as Natasha had hung up. Tony was worried for Clint, not that he would admit it of course. He had always liked the archer, they had got on pretty well in the short weeks that they had known each other. For once, Tony had someone to talk to that understood his humour and didn't shy away from it. For once, Tony had a friend.

He hummed quietly as he waited to be patched through to Director Fury, all the while heading for the archery range. He turned around a sharp corner and headed over to Natasha who was sat cradling Clint's head in her lap. Tony blanched and forced himself not to say anything stupid. He handed the stressed Russian his phone and knelt down next to his friend who was out for the count – no doubt that Natasha had hit him again. He had never seen her so panicked before.

The Black Widow switched the phone onto speaker and set it on the floor, sending a blank look to Tony. She calmed noticeably as soon as Fury's voice swam out of the phone.

"What is it, Stark?"

"Fury. We have a problem. You see Barton-" Tony started, but Natasha cut him off abruptly.

"Barton's been compromised."

The director huffed on the other end of the phone. He had a feeling this was going to happen. Those damn agents couldn't stay out of trouble for five minutes could they? "I'll send someone to bring him in," Fury replied calmly, before hanging up the phone. Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose and looked up to Tony.

"What happened here, Red?"

The spy, who was far too worried about her partner, failed to notice the use of the much hated nickname. "He tripped out again, Stark. Loki's-" she faltered, but covered it up as a cough.

"Loki's got to him again. He tried to kill me."

Tony bowed his head and nodded solemnly. "I was afraid you'd say that."

The two Avengers sat in silence; comfortable being near each other for the first time since they'd met as they waited patiently for back up.

Clint woke up in a familiar looking room, slightly disorientated. His vision was filled with shocking colours and he didn't remember how he'd gotten here. Blinking and shaking his head, he realised where he was. SHIELDs containment room. He groaned. What had he done to deserve this? Why couldn't he remember anything? And why the_ hell_ was he cuffed to the damned bed he was lying on?

The archer began to panic slightly, and flicked his eyes around the room searching for threats. Tensing, he tugged roughly against his restraints. He hated being tied down. He soon realised that if he carried on yanking against the cuffs he'd rub his wrists raw. Sighing, he relaxed and leant his head back against the pillow closing his eyes – until he heard an all too familiar voice call his name.

Clint straightened up, his eyes wide and dragged his gazed around the room once more.

"Tasha?" he mumbled, squinting into the distance. She walked over to him and calmly untied his hands, avoiding all eye contact. The action didn't go unnoticed. Clint flexed his fingers as soon as his wrists were free and stretched out his arms in front of him, swinging round into a sitting position. He glanced up and realised that his partner had backed away somewhat.

"Natasha," he repeated. "What- What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

She spoke softly. Clint winced. He had been her partner long enough to realise that whenever she spoke softly something was seriously wrong. He thought back to the last time he was in this room. His face drained of all colour.

"I didn't... I didn't _kill _anyone did I Natasha?"

"No."

Clint leant forwards, his forearms on his knees. "Then what? I remember going down to the training room and finding you there and then – oh." His expression contorted to one of horror as the memories came flooding back.

_Clint was leaning against the wall of the training room watching his partner fail miserably at archery. He had been just about to make a snide comment when the pain had hit. An intense, burning pain that seared through his skull. Turning towards the wall, the archer pressed his head against the cool brick wall of the training room in the hopes of relieving some of the fire. _

_His vision began to blur slightly and the ground appeared to be spinning and rotating in different directions. Vivid lights stabbed at his eyes as his forehead poured with sweat. In the back of his mind he could vaguely make out that someone was talking to him, but he couldn't remember who he was with anymore. The words bubbled and echoed through the room as if he were underwater and he couldn't force himself to concentrate long enough to decipher the words. _

_The all too familiar feeling of nausea twisted in his stomach and slithered up his throat making him whimper. He screwed his eyes shut as tightly as possible, and that helped slightly as it alleviated the spinning sensation that overwhelmed his senses. He could feel himself trembling and instantly recognised the rush of adrenaline that was flowing through him. _

_Locking his jaw in concentration, Clint tried to fight off the poisoned thoughts that were entering his mind. The archer could feel his control slipping but felt utterly powerless to stop it. Why was this happening to him?_

_The last thought Clint Barton had before he surrendered his mind was of his partner, Natasha Romanoff. _

Natasha took in his expression and knew that the penny had finally dropped. She grimaced and started towards him but he leapt up, backing away and shaking his head. Seeing his reaction the Russian spy rolled her eyes at him.

"For Christ's sake, Barton. Don't be stupid."

"I'm not, Natasha. You have to leave. I'm not safe."

Natasha scoffed and started towards him once more. "Don't be ridiculous, Clint."

"I mean it Natasha. This is the second time this has happened. I can't – I don't," Clint trailed off and turned away from her. Natasha stopped, but she didn't leave.

"I don't want you here."

Natasha's face instantly became void of emotion. She blinked twice, stunned. This was the first time in their fifteen year partnership that _he_ had asked _her_ to leave. He was completely shutting her out, and she hated it.

Without another word, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.


	4. Clint's Silence

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of its characters.**

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed. Not too sure about this chapter, but it had to be written! Hope you like this! Please read and leave a review:) Thanks!**

**Chapter 4 – Clint's silence**

Clint lay on the bed of the confinement room and stared up at the ceiling, drumming his fingers on the wall. The doctor that had come to see him was talking, but the archer wasn't listening to him. He was thinking of Natasha. He missed her badly. It had only been four days since his relapse, and she had come by to see him every day. He hadn't let her in though; he couldn't risk losing himself again. He couldn't risk losing _her. _

He rolled over on the bed to face the wall and shut out the monotone voice that was droning on beside him. He clenched his fists and screwed his eyes shut tight. He wasn't a monster. He didn't need to be locked up like this. He was fine, goddamn it! He sucked in a deep breath and attempted to calm himself down. The doctor pulled at his shoulder, trying to get his attention.

Sighing, Clint rolled over to face him and glanced at the clock, grimacing when he saw it was only one in the afternoon. "Sorry, what was that, Doc?" his tone was bored, uninterested. The doctor knitted his brow and huffed in annoyance.

"I said that this is easily treatable. All you need is an _anchor." _

"An anchor?"

Clint looked sceptically at the doctor. What was he even a doctor of anyway? This all sounded incredibly cliché, like something out of a shitty romance novel or something. The doctor noticed his tone, but didn't show it. He had met many patients that had a stubborn streak like Clint Barton, and he wasn't going to give up just because the agent had a huge ego. Christ, if he'd done that before he wouldn't have been able to successfully treat _half _of the patients he'd been forced to deal with in the past. Shaking his head slightly, he carried on talking.

"Yes, an anchor, something that will tie you to reality. It could be..." the doctor stopped speaking briefly and hummed in thought. "It could be a photograph, a memory, a song... perhaps a person?"

The archer visibly flinched at that last suggestion.

"No," he deadpanned.

"I take it you've thought of someone then? Someone that could be your anchor? This is very important agent Barton. Nothing is more important that your health." The doctor narrowed his eyes, scrutinising his expression.

"Her safety is," he mumbled into the pillow.

"Ah," the doctor nodded, knowingly. "The person you're thinking of is Agent Romanoff, is it not?"

Clint huffed and turned to face the wall once more. This whole situation was ludicrous. He was a world class assassin; he did _not _need a nanny.

"Look, Barton." The doctor continued after realising the assassin wasn't going to reply. "She won't be in any danger, all she has to do is calm you down if you have another attack and keep an eye on you. That's all."

Clint narrowed his eyes.

"Even if you bring her in here I won't talk to talk to her," he warned.

"We'll see about that."

The doctor stood up and walked out of the room, leaving the assassin to his thoughts. Clint groaned and threw his arm across his face. Natasha was going to _hate _this idea.

Natasha Romanoff sighed and checked her watch. It was now 6:30pm. She had spent most of the afternoon talking to Clint's doctor, who had laid out a plan of action for the two to follow. The two of them had agreed that she would look after her partner, and they would attend fortnightly check-ups to see how he was progressing. The archer wasn't going to like this, he didn't respond well to doctors. Besides, everybody knew that Natasha was the only one he would talk to, even if he was denying it. She grimaced, recalling the last time they had been in a situation similar to this, stuck in SHIELDs medical facility.

_A few months ago it had been Natasha stuck in that dreary room. She had broken several ribs and had faint burns up her left arm. They were pretty sore, but they weren't going to scar – at least that's what the doctors had assured her. She hadn't wanted to see Clint as a very small part of her hair had been singed off of the base of her neck, leaving her with a tiny, and wholly unnoticeable bald patch. Of course, Natasha being Natasha had been afraid that Clint would be disgusted by her appearance and had threatened the doctors to keep him away until her hair began to look better. _

_They had been in Rio on a stake-out when Clint had heard a quiet 'hiss' of a gas canister coming from behind him. He whirled around and searched for it among the rocks and rubble eventually spotting a small container about 2 meters behind Natasha puffing out hideous amounts of gas. _

_He had been about to warn Natasha to cover her airways when she fired her gun, igniting the swift-spreading cloud of gas. Clint stood watching, frozen in shock as the flames engulfed the left side of her, throwing her to the ground. The gas had been flammable - not toxic. He had been sloppy, careless for not considering this and cursed himself for not warning his partner sooner. Now she had been hurt, and it was all entirely his fault._

_The archer had felt worried sick as he sat outside the door to Natasha's room. The only thing he could see when he closed his eyes was that horrible moment, stuck on repeat. When the doctor had come out and told him that she didn't want to see him, his stomach had knotted painfully. He had thought he didn't want to see him because she blamed him for what had happened. Nevertheless, even though Natasha refused to let him in, he hadn't left that doorway until Natasha had given in and agreed to see him._

_She remembered how he had sat on the edge of her bed, tenderly running a hand through her hair and cupping her cheek. He had done his own inventory of her injuries – he didn't trust the doctors to do it well enough. Natasha had protested at every given opportunity, but secretly she had enjoyed being cared for. It had been a while since anyone had truly cared about what happened to her. _

_He had sat there all night, stroking her hair until she had fallen asleep. _

Smiling fondly at the memory, she looked through the viewing window before she entered the room. Seeing Clint lying there on his cot, facing ceiling was hard for her to watch. Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance. She was annoyed at herself for not seeing this coming, but mostly she was annoyed at the doctors for making Clint stay here. It wasn't like it was an ongoing condition. Ninety percent of the time the archer was completely normal. He'd slipped up, not had a psychotic break. What were they doing keeping him here like this?

That was the first thing Natasha had said to the doctors and agents involved with her partners care. She had demanded that she be allowed to take him out of here. They had complied fairly easily once she had threatened them by grabbing one of them by the throat and threatening to kill him if they didn't agree with her. She smiled to herself wryly. Clint liked rooftops, he liked being out in the open, up high. He would _never_ get better if he was forced to stay in a place like this. But, at the same time, she didn't want to make the situation worse, and so decided that the best thing to do right now was to wait it out.

She cracked the door open and slipped in, careful not to make too much noise. The doctor had told her to knock and take things slowly so as not to 'startle' him, but she knew Barton better than anyone. She knew that he hated to be treated like a child – even if he did act like one pretty much all the time.

"Hey, Clint." she whispered. She raised an eyebrow at him as he watched her cross the room and over to the cot he was lying on. Keeping his expression blank, he rolled away from her to face the wall – much like he had with the doctor. Natasha stayed silent. Hoisting herself up onto the side of the cot she propped herself up into a sitting position so that she was sat next to her partner.

Hesitantly, she raised her hand and ran it through his hair. He sighed and closed his eyes. Natasha tried repeating the action, relaxing slightly when he didn't flinch away. She knew that this was enough for him. She had realised early on in their partnership that he didn't like talking about his problems. No matter how rare they were, it always shocked her when she saw the archer like this. He was always so chipper. He never let things get him down.

Clint lay on his side, facing away from Natasha. There was a part of him that was glad she was here, but the stronger, more prominent part of him was shouting at him to make her leave. He couldn't stand the idea of being a danger to her, but he just couldn't bring himself to make her leave again. Of course, this was unrealistic as the woman sat next to him was as deadly as they come, and could probably kill him within three seconds flat if it came down to it.

The simple action of her stroking his hair was surprisingly soothing for the archer. He appreciated the silence and didn't want to break it. He knew what the doctor's plan was. Clint was to stay with Natasha at all times. He was to warn her if he felt a headache coming on and she was to refrain from hitting him over the head if he had another episode. If he were in a better mood, he would have chuckled at the ridiculousness of it all.

Clint felt her other hand rest on his shoulder. He tensed up slightly as the touch, but didn't shrug it off. He knew how much effort Natasha was making to comfort him like this. She had almost all of her walls down and he didn't want to be the one that caused her to build them back up again. It had taken her the larger part of 15 years to be comfortable with him and he'd be damned if he let Loki ruin all his hard work.

Wordlessly, and making a conscious effort to keep his face void of emotion, Clint Barton reached up to hold her hand.


	5. Bull's-eye

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

**A/N: So... the fifth chapter is finally here. Sorry it took so long, I got a bit caught up writing Avengers headcanons! It's a bit of a filler – but it is necessary! I got a bit stuck after the fourth chapter, but here goes. Hopefully it's good enough! :)**

**Chapter 5 – Bull's-eye.**

Natasha strolled into Clint's room in SHIELD medical. The doctors had long since realised that she wasn't going to stay away, and so had agreed to let her come and go as she pleased. If they were being honest, it was because the Russian spy scared the _shit _out of them and they weren't prepared to end up castrated for keeping her from her partner who had been cooped up in that tiny room for nearly 2 weeks now. He was literally climbing the walls.

Carrying two steaming hot coffees she greeted Clint, rolling her eyes once she noticed what he had been up to. The archer had literally pulled apart his cot and made a make-shift catapult out of some spare elastic and some bed springs. He had even started screwing up tiny bits of paper from his medical assessment sheet so he could launch them at a hand drawn target on the wall. He hit the bull's-eye every time.

Upon smelling the rich scent of coffee swirling out of the Styrofoam cups, the assassin's face lit up and he practically launched himself off of his cot and across the room to where Natasha stood. He flashed her an impish grin and snagged one of the coffees, waving his catapult in front of her face enthusiastically. The Russian merely raised an eyebrow at her partner and looked between him and the catapult, a dry expression on her face.

"Come to break me out, Nat?" he beamed at her, eyes hopeful. Natasha tried to ignore the twisting in her gut as she watched his face fall once she shook her head. She hated to disappoint him. She looked at the floor and said nothing. If the roles were reversed, Clint would have gotten her out by now. Sighing, she looked around at the dishevelled room, finally noticing for the first time what a mess it was in.

"_Really, _Barton. _This-" _she snagged the tiny little catapult out of his hand and gestured around the room at the hail of paper strewn across the room, disbelieving what she was seeing. "-is what you've been doing with your time? Christ. I knew my partner was an idiot, but I didn't realise he was _four years old." _

Clint smiled sheepishly and snatched back his catapult and gulped down his coffee, his mood lightening immediately. The Russian rolled her eyes – she was going to end up with whiplash one day if his mood kept switching this fast. In fact, she was kind of surprised his mood swings hadn't killed her already. She watched as he jumped up onto the bed and picked up some more paper, scrunching it up tight before holding it out to her expectantly. "You try." Natasha cocked her head to the side and grimaced, shaking her head.

"No thanks. Unlike _some _people, I have shitload of paperwork to do." She turned on her heel and went to walk out the door, but stopped in her tracks once she heard Clint speak.

"Come on, Tasha. _I dare you," _he said, waggling his eyebrows at her all the while. He knew that his partner wouldn't – _couldn't _– refuse a challenge. He'd learnt that over their last few years of partnership; if you wanted Natasha to do something, all you had to do was challenge her. It worked every time. The Russian cursed under her breath.

"Damn you, Clint Barton, for always being so goddamn infuriating," she muttered, stalking back over to the cot and snatching up the catapult. She stood in front of Clint and was about to take the shot when she felt a strong arm wrap around her waist.

"Ah – Not so fast, Romanoff. That shot is _way _too easy. Stand over here." Natasha shivered involuntarily as his breath tickled her ear. She narrowed her eyes. Clint had a nasty habit of doing that. She made to smack him over the head, but stopped once she remembered that the doctor had warned her not to. Damn them for ruining her fun. Relaxing slightly, she let the archer lead her over to the far side of the room, next to the door to the tiny bathroom, so that the target on the wall was diagonally away from her across the room.

Grimacing, she whirled around and glared at Clint who was still _very_ close behind her and huffed angrily. She tried hard to keep her face straight, but he was just _so _close. She was starting to get slightly rattled.

"_How in God's name _am I meant to hit that stupid target from here!" she exclaimed, throwing one arm out to signal dramatically at the sketched drawing on the wall that now appeared to be a million miles away. Clint smirked.

"It's easy, Nat. See?" he said, sniping the contraption out of her hand and firing the shot instantly, barely even checking to line up his target. Natasha smiled wryly as it hit the dead centre of the target. Furrowing her brow, she held her hand out for the catapult, which Clint placed in her hand gently, a look of sheer amusement on his face.

The Russian growled and muttered something unintelligible. "Well come on then, Barton. Hand me a damn missile then, I'm not going to stand here and play darts with you all day." Clint chuckled and handed her a small piece of paper which she screwed up into a tiny ball violently. The archer watched this action and laughed loudly, finding her venom exceedingly entertaining.

Natasha narrowed her eyes at him. "Go ahead, Clint. I promise you won't be laughing when I wipe the floor with your ass at this game. Make another of those damned catapults; my shooting has vastly improved over the time I've been stuck here waiting for you to get out." The assassin threw her a shit-eating grin and reached down to her thigh to whip one of her many knives out from its holster there. He hopped back onto the cot, and began to slice away at the bedding. Natasha scowled at him.

Finally, Natasha lined up her shot and glanced over at the archer who had momentarily stopped what he was doing to watch. She let go of the elastic and the paper ball shot forwards, never looking away from the archer. Once she had realised that she had hit the bull's-eye (like she knew she would, of course) she turned smug. Clint turned to her and raised his eyebrows, his enormous grin diminishing by only a fraction.

Clint turned to her and held out a brand new catapult to her, biting back a smirk. "Bet you can't do that twice, Tasha."

The Russian rose to the challenge, and the two agents began to absorb themselves in the petty war. Clint would almost undoubtedly win. He was Hawkeye, after all.

Natasha had left Clint to his own devices after she had been beaten at their little game. She knew the moment that he had handed her that second catapult that she would lose, but she wanted to cheer him up and distract him from everything that was going on. Honestly though, it was nice for her to spend some time with the normal Clint again - even if he was a goddamn pain in the ass.

Taking the small lift down to the mess hall, Natasha picked up yet _another _coffee, setting it down on one of the long, unoccupied tables that sat in the canteen. She stirred the thick liquid with her spoon, propping her head up on her other hand, deep in thought. To her Clint seemed fine to leave, but the doctors had insisted that he was in a very volatile state. Natasha had scoffed at this. They were assassins. Being volatile was practically in their job description.

For some reason, the medical professionals at SHIELD were expecting Clint to flip out again and try and attack someone. I had been weeks since Loki's failed invasion, and the archer had only just had his first relapse, hadn't he? His next could be weeks away, months even. It was just plain _stupid _to keep one of SHIELDs top agents holed up in confinement like this. She growled under her breath. She could easily get him out of here, sure, but she was worried about how the other Avengers were going to treat him and the repercussions it might have.

She and Tony had spoken to them as Clint's initial assessment had been underway, and they had been very understanding – that was what worried her though. Clint would hate to feel as though everyone was walking on eggshells around him, worried that he was going to trip out if they did the wrong thing. She could be certain that Tony would act normal with him, but the others she couldn't be sure of.

She ran her hand across her face in frustration, not even bothering to look up when she heard a slight crash to her left. Steve was the main problem. It was not in the captain's nature to just ignore a problem, and she had a feeling that he would be _overly _nice to the archer in an attempt to make him feel relaxed. Well, Natasha knew Clint, and she knew - if anything - that would just make him feel _worse. _

Sensing that someone was approaching her, Natasha tensed slightly. She made a conscious effort however, to keep her appearance the same. She continued to stir her coffee and lean on her hand as if she had no idea that someone was walking toward her.

"Agent Hill," she greeted, straightening up and sipping her coffee. She narrowed her eyes slightly as the slender agent stood behind the seat opposite her indicating that it would be a fairly brief exchange. Natasha expected nothing less and so remained seated, scrutinizing Hill. If this was about Clint – which it most likely was – she needed to know what was going on, and the only way of doing that was to talk to Maria.

"Agent Romanoff." Hill paused before continuing.

"Can I just ask - what the _hell _have you done with Agent Barton?" A look of confusion flashed across the Russian spies face momentarily. She narrowed her eyes at the agent stood before her, realisation flooding her brain. Her mood darkened considerably after just hearing that sentence.

"What do you mean?" she bit out, already knowing the answer.

"Barton's gone."

This had Tony Stark written _all _over it.


	6. Escape

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

**A/N: Okay so... chapter 6! I did my best with this chapter and I hope it lives up to everyone's expectations... Oh and I'm planning for the action to pick up in the next few chapters after this! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 6 – Escape.**

Tony Stark tiptoed silently up to the door of Clint's room. Looking to his left and right, he scouted for guards, and upon seeing none, cracked open the door to the archer's room and popped his head in.

"Rise and shine, Katniss. Get your shit together. I'm busting you out!"

Clint sat up and looked at him, grinning.

"Natasha's going to kill you," Clint replied, his smile widening.

Tony scoffed. "_Please, _Barton_. _I can handle your girlfriend. Plus, I'm betting she wants you out of here too, eh?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at Clint, who groaned in annoyance but stood up regardless, picking up the two handmade catapults. He was keeping those. Huffing slightly, he stuffed them into his backpack and pushed past Tony, clapping him on the back before sticking his head out into the corridor.

"So what's the plan?" Tony asked, looking innocently up at the assassin.

"_You're _the one breaking _me _out remember? Why am I coming up with the plan?" Clint whined, furrowing his eyebrows at his fellow Avenger. Tony just looked at him sheepishly and shrugged.

"I had Pepper hovering around me all morning. I didn't really have time to plan for this, buddy..." Clint chuckled at his friend and motioned for him to follow. Together, they snuck down the hallway to the door of main corridor. Pushing the door open, the two of them straightened up and began to walk with purpose. They figured if they looked confident, no one would question what they were doing.

Clint huffed slightly and looked down at his feet as he followed the billionaire towards the mess hall, which led to the nearest exit. Unfortunately for them, they had to pass right by director Fury's office to get there. Leaning forwards, Tony peeked in through the window, and assessed the situation. Fury was there with his back to the window, pacing. There was no way in hell he would see them – not if they ran fast, anyway. He whipped back round to face Clint and gave him the thumbs up, and the two of the bolted down the corridor, grinning like idiots.

Clint smiled to himself. Tony may be a prick, but he was a great guy to have around – especially when he freed you from the nightmare that was SHIELD medical. Refocusing, he followed his friend down the hallway to the entrance of the mess hall. Tony strode right in confidently, smacking the door wide open, only to be yanked back harshly by the collar of his _Black Sabbath _top as the incredulous archer noticed something he didn't.

"Tony! For _god's sake _Natasha's in there!" He whisper-shouted, pointing aggressively at the red-haired Russian who was now staring down at her coffee with intent. Clint banged his head against the wall, keeping hold of the careless billionaire's collar the whole while.

"Sorry, Barton-" Tony said, flashing him a cheeky smile. "-I thought you'd want a little confrontation – you know, to re-ignite the passion in your relationship." He finished, cracking up, wincing as the assassin promptly smacked him over the head.

"Hey-" Tony pouted, but lowered his pitch once he saw Clint's deathly glare. "God, you're more like Romanoff than I thought," he mumbled under his breath. "No seriously, Legolas. I had no idea she was in there. To be honest I kinda figured she'd be down in the gym doing what she usually does when she's mad – beating the _shit _out of some punch bag."

Clint narrowed his eyes at Tony suspiciously. "What?"

"You know Red. Always taking her anger out on inanimate objects whenever she gets frustrated. Unless I'm around of course. You know - I still haven't gotten that kink out of my neck! Those damned Russian spies are lethal." he trailed off, screwing up his face, disgruntled. Clint rolled his eyes and smirked.

"Bet you deserved it."

"Me? What on earth could I have done to _deserve _that kind of abuse?" he asked, innocently. Clint sighed, and peeked through the glass window in the door once more, keeping his eye on the Russian and ignoring the idiot stood beside him.

"Come on," he said, grabbing Tony and pushing him gently through the door. "I think we can sneak past."

"Sneak past Romanoff? Are you crazy?" his horror-struck expression morphed into one of mischief. "I was hoping you would say that."

Dropping down onto his knees and pulling Clint with him, he started off crawling behind the tables, dive rolling across open spaces, all the while humming the _Mission Impossible _theme. Clint groaned, but chuckled in spite of himself. Out of all the missions he'd ever done, this was by far the most dangerous. If Natasha caught him now, he was sure he would be walking sideways for the next two weeks.

Clint shuffled forwards, cursing when he stubbed his toe on the side of a cart full of cutlery, sending knives and forks flying. "Son of a _fuck," _he grimaced, rolling behind the cart and clutching at his foot, his eyes watering. He swore that that was more goddamn painful than getting shot in the knee.

"Mayday!" he hissed, scrunching his eyes shut. "I've been hit, I've been hit!"

Tony shuffled over to him and prodded him, not knowing what had just happened. "Oh _shit, _Barton. Don't you _dare _go all Loki-loco on me! Not nowwww," he whined, sticking out his lower lip.

"Shut up you idiot. I just stubbed my sodding toe, that's all," he grumbled, cradling his toe and sticking his head out and peeking around the cart to see if Natasha had noticed the kafuffle. The archer breathed a deep sigh of relief once he saw that his partner was still deep in thought, completely oblivious to what had just happened. _Wow, _he thought, _this is a first. _

Shaking his head in disbelief, he signalled to his fellow Avenger to keep moving. He wanted to get the _hell _out of this place. The longer they stayed, the more they risked getting caught. They slipped quietly between the tables holding their breath and puffing it out as soon as they reached the exit on the other side of the canteen. This door led to a stair well, which in turn, led to the 'roof' of the Heli-carrier. Clint paused.

"Hey, Tony..."

"Yes, Princess."

"How are we going to get off the Heli-carrier? In case you haven't noticed, we're in mid-air."

"Oh I nicked us a couple of broomsticks, I figured Harry Potter wouldn't mind if we borrowed them for a bit."

"Stark," Clint said warningly.

"God, Barton. Stop being such a pansy. Look I figured that I'd just put on the suit and sort of just... _fly _us down there."

Clint nodded. "Better get suited up then, Iron Man. We're gunna be at the top of these damn stairs in no time," he flashed Tony a cheeky grin before starting to bolt up the stairs, taking them two at a time. "I'll race you to the top!" he called out behind him, laughing when he heard Tony groan and start chasing after him.

Five minutes later, the two Avengers burst out of the door at the stop of the stairwell - panting heavily - and out onto the top of the Heli-carrier, Clint miles ahead of the genius. Taking in deep breaths, the archer smacked his hand down on Tony's shoulder. "I knew I'd beat you!"

"You son-of-a-bitch, you cheated!" Tony gasped out, nearly crumpling to the ground under the force of Clint's hand. Clint chuckled and steadied him.

"Man, I need a drink." He muttered, shrugging away from Clint and straightening up. Clint groaned.

"Just suit up and get me out of here before Fury finds out I'm gone." he said dryly without a hint of sympathy for his friend.

Tony shot him a look and pulled his red briefcase out from nowhere, his suit unfolding around him. Soon enough, he was Iron Man. He held out his arms wide, and beckoned Clint into them.

"Come 'ere baby," he said in a mock serious tone, pouting slightly.

"Don't let Pepper hear you call me that," Clint warned with a wink, stepping forwards to grab hold of his friend.

Tony narrowed his eyes and powered up his suit before tightening his grasp on the archer and soaring off, down to Stark tower.

Meanwhile, Natasha Romanoff had just finished her conversation with agent Hill. She didn't even understand how the two misfits could have escaped. Sure, one of them was a genius and the other was a world-class assassin, but to get from they were and out onto the roof of the Heli-carrier, they would have had to have gone through the mess hall – and Natasha had been in there the whole time.

The Russian stopped in her tracks, vaguely remembering hearing a crash. She had assumed it had been a novice agent being careless. She had been half-right. Except instead of a newbie agent, it was Clint goddamn _Barton _who had been crashing around trying to sneak past her. Natasha scoffed -_Well shit. _

The spy scowled and ran up the very same stairwell that the two escapee's had disappeared up mere moments earlier. Bursting out onto the roof, she jumped into a jet and commanded the first pilot in sight to take her back down to the unofficial Avengers' base.

A few minutes later, she was storming down the halls of Stark tower absolutely fuming. Stalking past Bruce Banner (making him flinch and cower in the corner), the angry red-head stalked through to their respective living room, narrowing her eyes upon seeing Clint standing there, happy as Larry, bonding over a beer with Tony. Growling, she grabbed Clint by his left arm and roughly dragged him along with her to her room, never breaking stride.


	7. Hollow Victory

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Sadly. **

**A/N: Chapter 7. Sorry it took so long, I had so much work to do and I haven't felt inspired to write anything recently. This may not have been what you were expecting... Hell, it wasn't even what I was planning to write but it just sort of went this way and no matter **_**how much **_**I tried to write it differently it always ended up like this... ;(**

**Chapter 7 – A Hollow Victory. **

Natasha Romanoff pushed her partner into her room and slammed the door behind her. Smacking her palm against it aggressively when she realised Tony had his ear pressed up against the door. She heard a tiny whimper on the other side of the door and listened as the sound of footsteps faded away down the hall. She looked over her shoulder at her partner, Clint Barton, who was now pouting and rubbing at his arm.

"Ow. What the hell, Nat? That hurts," he whined, prodding at his arm.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Stop being such a baby, Barton." Refocusing, she fixed her icy glare on him, turning to face him fully. "What the hell are you doing back here?"

Clint looked down at the floor and grinned his classic schoolboy grin before hopping up onto her bed and stretching out, his arms folded behind his head. He shrugged. Natasha growled and shoved him off, so he landed in a heap on the floor. "Don't put your muddy shoes on my bed. It'll be a bitch for me to clean."

The archer pulled himself up onto his hands and knees and shook himself slightly. He paused and stared down at the ground, hiding a sly smirk from Natasha. He had an idea. In an instant, he was up and on his feet. He grabbed the Russian's wrists and pinned her to the wall, his expression turning dark. She looked up at him, noting his narrowed eyes and set jaw. His eyes might as well have been black as they darkened in rage. She blinked at him, unfazed. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn the man was more bipolar that she was.

"You know I can easily throw you off me, right?" she remarked dryly, raising an eyebrow at him – not the least bit surprised by his futile attempts to distract her. Clint smirked.

"I don't doubt it for a second, Romanoff." She winced slightly as his breath tickled her face.

"Well then," she said simply, smiling calmly up at him before swiftly kneeing him in the gut. Caught completely off guard, the archer reeled backwards, clutching at his stomach. He looked up at her and narrowed his eyes.

"_What the_ _hell, _Tasha?" he growled out, sucking in a breath and straightening out. He lifted his arm to pin her again, but the Russian grabbed it and twisted it round until he conceded. Natasha merely stared at him as he whimpered, her serene mask firmly back in place. "Stop trying to fight me, Barton. You're not charming your way out of this one."

The spy sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Why are you doing this, Clint? You _know _you should be in SHIELD medical right now. You can't just keep going against their rules all the time." Clint groaned and rolled his eyes, turning away from her.

"Oh, because you've never disobeyed anyone have you, Tasha?" he scoffed. Natasha narrowed her eyes at him.

"But this is serious, Clint. You never follow protocol after missions. You never go to the post-mission debriefs, you pass the paperwork along to some junior agent and you never come in to the base unless absolutely necessary. Now this. How much more of this do you think Fury is going to take, Clint?" She sighed and her tone became slightly softer. "He's going to kick us out so fast it'll make our heads spin."

Clint looked leant back against the wall, folding his arms and averting his gaze. "He won't kick us out, Tasha. We're too good at what we do. He needs us."

"Maybe, but he can end our partnership in a flash, Barton."

The archer's eyes snapped up to meet hers. He looked at her for a moment, searching her face. "He wouldn't do that to us," he said quietly, almost to himself. Maybe Natasha was right. Their partnership was everything to him; he didn't want to lose it. Not over this. They were the perfect team and they _both _knew that if he kept acting the way he was they were going to be reassigned.

Natasha softened slightly. She didn't want to be punishing her partner. Hell, if she had been in his position she would have busted out of there much sooner. Clint was known for his never ending patience with people, but he was also known for his reckless behaviour. He had never spent more than a day in SHIELD medical before this – not even when he had been shot – so Natasha could sort of understand why he made a break for it.

Sighing, the Russian ran a hand through her hair. _Why was he so goddamn impossible? _She cursed under her breath. She wanted so badly to be mad at him, but Barton was so damn hard to stay mad at. Now she was going to have to deal with Maria. Perhaps if they could get some sort of deal set up, herself and Clint may be able to go on some light-weight missions. There was no way in _hell _that she was going to babysit Barton. That man was worse than a freaking toddler. He would have her tearing her hair out at the end of the first hour.

She stiffened slightly when she realised her partner had fall silent. Clint was _never _silent. Something was wrong.

Cautiously, she looked back up to her partner who was now slumped against the wall of her bedroom with his forearms resting on his knees. He was cradling his head in his hands and breathing extremely slowly. Natasha tensed. _Shit. _Quietly, so as not to alarm him, she crossed the room and crouched down before him, and placed her hands on his arms. She whispered his name.

He raised his head and leaned it all the way back against the wall, his eyes screwed shut. He wore a grimace on his face, and he was whispering to himself under his breath. Natasha took his face in her hands and tilted his head towards her. She felt his forehead, he was burning up.

"Tasha," he whined, bringing his hands up to rub his temples. He let his head fall forward to rest on her shoulder. The Russian stiffened slightly but didn't pull back. "It hurts."

Natasha froze. She didn't really know what to do. She had never had to look after a sick relative, and had never really been sick herself. Panicking internally, her mind rallied through all the comforting gestures that Clint had offered her during their long partnership whenever she had been injured in the field. Settling on the first one that she deemed reasonable, she raised her hand and gently stroked his head – it had worked last time, right?

"I know, Clint. Can you tell me where it hurts?" she said softly. She had to determine what was going on. She was hesitant to contact SHIELD or to get one of the other avengers because that meant that Clint would never get his ass out of SHIELD medical again. Slowly, she pulled his head away from her shoulder, ignoring the twisting in her gut when he nuzzled against her neck. She turned his face to hers and shook him gently.

"Clint I need you to open your eyes, okay? I need you to look at me."

The archer complied, and Natasha breathed a massive sigh of relief. His eyes were normal. That was good. His brow puckered and his eyes fluttered shut again. Grabbing his jaw roughly, she forced him to open his eyes again. He grumbled at her and tried to push her away.

"Clint look at me. I really need you to focus. Can you understand what I'm saying? Do you feel sick at all?" she grumbled when he just grunted in reply and smacked him on the shoulder. "For god's sake Barton _pay attention." _

Hearing her urgent tone he refocused slightly and stared at her. His brow furrowed in concentration as he practically glared at her. His eyes flickered over her face, but Natasha didn't waver. She simply held the sides of his head with her cool hands as he attempted to bring himself back to the present. Eventually, the archer sighed and looked away from her. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he leant his head back against the wall, the stressed rigidity of his muscles dissipating.

Natasha sat back on her heels, and gave him some room, still watching his face warily. She relaxed considerably when he spoke.

"Sorry," he mumbled, looking at his hands, which were tying themselves in knots in his lap. He looked up at her with a solemn expression. Natasha scoffed.

"Clint, don't you realise what just happened?"

The assassin looked at said nothing and stood up. Natasha huffed in exasperation when he tried to side-step her in order to leave.

"You fought it off, Clint. That means it doesn't have to control you anymore."

The archer looked up at her and smiled wryly.

"If I'm honest, Tasha, it seems like bit of a hollow victory."

**A/N: So, Clint **_**can **_**fight Loki off – but that doesn't mean he's always going to be able to. Don't worry, it's definitely not always going to be this plain sailing... **


	8. Ohne Dich

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers :(**

**A/N: Warning, this is a seriously angsty chapter. I have no idea what happened. I was listening to a song, and then when I started writing this happened. I don't particularly like writing an upset Clint, because I don't feel like he'd be an overly emotional person, but Clint behaves how he wants to behave, and he was really fighting me in this chapter! Please Review! Oh – and translations will be at the bottom, I know it's annoying but the language change was necessary. This is probably going to be the last update for a while as well. I have so many exams coming up and I really want to revise for them so I don't really have much time for this at the moment... sorry!**

**Chapter 8 – Ohne Dich – without you. **

Clint sighed and dangled his legs over the edge of the roof. He could sense Natasha walking up behind him but he wasn't really in the mood to talk. He'd almost had another relapse, within mere _hours _of leaving SHIELD medical. Perhaps it was safer for him to go back. He looked at his partner with a blank expression on his face as she slumped down next to him, dangling her legs in a similar fashion to his own.

"Clint," she greeted, almost brusquely.

"Tasha," he breathed out, looking away from her and into the distance.

The Russian was worried that her partner was up here, not that she'd admit it of course. She always panicked slightly when he sat up on the roof because it was a sign that he was unhappy or worried and she hated it when he was unhappy. She wanted to talk to him, to _actually talk – _not just converse for the sake of it. This moment had cropped up between them many times over the years, this pivotal moment, where they were on the verge of completely opening up to each other. Every single time they failed, they clammed up, they retreated. Not this time.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

The archer sighed and stared up at the stars. He wanted to go on a mission, hell he would settle for some freaking paperwork right now, he just needed to distract himself from all the sitting around he'd been doing lately. The assassin could feel the Russian waiting for his answer, but he honestly had nothing to say to her. He wasn't in the mood for joking around, but he didn't want to start another heavy conversation. There was only so much his partner could take, and he could tell she was struggling to put up with his moping. Perhaps he should just be honest with her. But then, what _was _the truth behind his sour mood?

He turned to face her and shrugged, giving her a lopsided smile. She scrutinised him for a short while with narrowed eyes but soon gave up, releasing him from her gaze. Clint smiled wryly as she scooted closer to him, so their shoulders were touching. He liked how they could sit in a companionable silence, with no need for words to be shared.

He hated how she pushed him away though. Time after time he tried to get closer to her, to understand her better, but every time she would shove him away, the tall walls around her ascending at double the rate they had previously descended at. He thought back to the conversation they'd had just hours earlier, when he'd been so near to the edge. He had been millimetres away from giving in to it – to _Loki _- but Natasha had grounded him.

Her scent, her smile, her voice. He had recalled them all as he had stared at her, desperately clawing himself back to her. He had thought about how silky her hair would be if he were to reach out and touch it. He had thought about how smooth her skin would be if he were to reach out and stroke her cheek. He had thought about how soft her lips would be if he were to kiss her, and how sharp the inevitable slap would be that would undoubtedly follow. All those thoughts were the things that had pulled him back. _She _had pulled him back.

The archer sighed. That's what he loved the most about their partnership. No matter what shit they went through, or what harrowing circumstances they endured, they were always there for each other. In a way, Clint felt closer to Natasha than any other person that had ever been in his life. He felt as if he could tell her anything – however at the same time, he never feels lonelier than when he's with her, because she never lets him in. To Clint, being next to Natasha Romanoff was by far the loneliest place in the world.

Closing his eyes, he tilted his face up to the sky and felt the icy cool breeze ruffle his hair gently. He knew Natasha was watching him; she tended to do that a lot when she thought he wouldn't notice.

It was then that he thought of something to say, a way of putting his feelings into words.

*"Ohne dich kann ich nicht sein," he whispered, keeping his gaze on the floor. The words were spoken so softly that Natasha was sure she had imagined them. Her heart clenched as she processed his words, and she felt the sharp pain return to her chest. She fought hard to keep her hands on her lap, resisting the temptation to clutch at the pain in an attempt to relieve it. Clint turned his face up to look at her, his eyes gleaming with emotion.

If those words had been spoken to anyone else, they would have been utterly insignificant. However, those words, those seemingly ordinary German words, meant a great deal to the two agents. Many years ago, they had just finished a mission in Berlin, and Fury had given them a day to enjoy the city. After looking through the markets and doing general tourist-like activities, they had crashed a concert of an infamous band that had been the talk of townspeople.

They had gone to see the popular German band perform, and as they were sitting from up high on a hill, looking on at the festival, one song in particular had stuck out to them. Over the years, they would sing it on occasion. Like when they were doing paper work. They would even reference it from time to time. To Clint, it seemed apt to use this song to explain himself.

*"Aber, mit dir bin ich auch allein," he continued, just as gently. His words struck a chord within the Russian and she looked down at her hands, feeling something akin to shame. She responded softly, looking up to meet his gaze.

*"Ohne dich zahl ich die stunden. Mit dir stehen die sekunden."

They fell silent and neither could look away as their eyes locked together. They sat like that for a while, unable to move, just silently communicating as they looked at one another. Two minutes may have passed, or perhaps two hours – neither knew or particularly cared. Natasha's eyes flickered down to rest on his lips briefly, before she looked away from him and drew a deep breath, tilting her head up toward the sky. Then, as swiftly as she had arrived, she left. Clint sighed when he heard her get up and move away from him, and listened closely as her footsteps faded away. The archer expected nothing less. He glanced out to the fading lights of the humming city below him, and whispered quietly.

"Ohne dich, Tasha."

***Translation!  
'Ohne Dich' – Without you.  
'Ohne dich kann ich nich sein' – Without you I cannot be.  
'Aber, Mit dir bin ich auch allein' – But, with you I am alone too.  
'Ohne dich zahl ich die stunden' – Without you I count the hours.  
'Mit dir stehen die sekunden' – Without you the seconds stand still.**

**Sorry it was all in German, but it was necessary. I felt like it made it more personal between them as I didn't think they'd feel comfortable having that sort of conversation, yet I felt that in another language it made it more probable. I can't actually speak German... and got the translations from the song 'Ohne Dich' by Rammstein. Let me know what you think, sorry if it was a hassle to read!**


End file.
